


The Frostfall Chronicles

by nicambi



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, i don't even think they kiss?? I was so naive, i wrote this like legit two years ago don't judge me, no retouches we flail like men, short but sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10010651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicambi/pseuds/nicambi
Summary: Erik can remember the day with the clarity of a fresh snow. He was on hands and knees with a spade in one hand and a mud caked potato in the other, toiling away in the crop field across the way from his father's inn when the wood elf came into view, still a far ways off down the road.Or: how Erik meets the love of his life, and gets the opportunity to live.Or VR2: a fic I wrote three to four years ago, found in my Google Docs, and thought to upload here without touching up. I'm dying squirtle.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so I wrote this somewhere like circa 2013-2014, and I uploaded it on FF.net because that what you did back in the day, but now I'm a grown girl, and I post my terrible writing from three years ago on the grown up sites. I'm kidding, but this fic is ooooold and you couldn't pay me money now to rewrite it, or finish it like I'd hoped. There's a half written chapter two somewhere but it's a completely different setting? Maybe some day in the distant future. I still hope you enjoy it :v

_Rorikstead; 16th of Frostfall, 201 year of the Fourth Era_

..

Erik can remember the day with the clarity of a fresh snow. He was on hands and knees with a spade in one hand and a mud caked potato in the other, toiling away in the crop field across the way from his father's inn when the wood elf came into view, still a far ways off down the road. It was a particularly warm day for being the middle of Frostfall, a cloudless sky allowing the sun to gaze down upon Nirn without interference; Erik was going a bit red in the face from the strain of work, and it was only by Kyne's sweet breath that he didn't have to stop every so often for a drink of water from the well.

  
The red haired young man probably wouldn't have noticed the traveler if he hadn't been looking up when he did. People passed through Rorikstead in fits and bursts, but they were rarely as travel-weary or beaten looking as the man coming down the road, even less so elf-born. It was this, and only this, that made him watch the elf until he was past the first farmstead; once the Bosmer had gotten closer, Erik felt rude for gawking so openly and cast his eyes back to his work, but not before seeing him start up the hill towards him. The young man blanched further, suddenly panicking at the thought of having to be social in his current state of exertion, but the elf was already upon him, limber arms hooking over the fence not five yards away. He was stunningly attractive, something Erik had heard most Men begrudgingly thought of Mer: his manner was one of grace, even weighed down by his pack and dust-laden clothes, and the heavy layer of grime from travel couldn’t hide his prominent cheekbones or the exotic orange of his eyes. Reldith was the only elf he’d ever been around for an extended period of time, and thus the only one comparable, an older Altmer woman who acted like his late mother, so the sudden shock left him dumbfounded: Erik gawked as the stranger smiled at him, all crooked lips and crinkling eyes.

"Good day, friend. Would you be so kind as to point me to the nearest inn?”

His words were to the point and weary, but he had a voice like warm milk, mild and relaxing. The redhead pointed blindly past the fellow where he knew from memory his father’s inn lie, his mouth bewitched shut and his eyes transfixed. If he appeared rude, he had only the solace of hoping he could make up for it later, for the elf gave a curt nod and untangled himself from the fence, disappearing down the slope in the direction he’d pointed. After a moment of self-flagellation and a mild curse, he went back to his work of planting leek tubers, the sun unrelenting on his back.  
When the winter months came upon the little hamlet, from any point in Rorikstead, the door to the inn could be heard opening and closing with it’s shrill, unearthly squeal, so when the cry went up after a few hours had passed, Erik glanced up expectantly. He thought to see one of the farmers or a guard returning to duty after a much needed break, but instead found himself staring once more at the man from earlier, looking admittedly more put together and perhaps a chance bit cleaner. He seemed to have a lighter load as well, and Erik absently wondered if he was just an unusual hunter passing through to sell off some pelts and meats. As he watched the other ascend the knoll in the direction of Markarth, he came to the conclusion that that was unlikely, unless the elf was foolishly going to hunt by moonlight or was hoping to make it to Old Hroldan before night fall, in which case he would have done better to stay the night. The sun set earlier during the winter seasons, and in Frostfall most particularly; game was hard to come by unless the hunt was started early in the morn, and five was about the time when most hunters returned home, the last stragglers coming in at about seven at the latest.

No matter what his pursuits, the elf made his way back out of town and disappeared into the approaching dusk, his silhouette blurring slightly in the setting sun. Erik watched on for a few moments, and then shrugged. He would find out the man's excursion soon enough; he collected a bushel of potatoes and one of the buckets from the well and kept on towards the inn, stopping only briefly to gather water from the rain trough next to the house before continuing inside.

His father greeted him mildly as he came in, not making any further comment as Erik kicked the door closed behind himself with the heel of his boot. He set the pall and the potatoes next to the large rectangular hearth and walked towards the back, sighing his ‘hello’.

"Grounds getting harder," the younger man commented distractedly, grabbing a small carving knife from under the counter.

"What do you expect, boy; it's winter," his father chuckled lightly, rubbing a mug with a stained, threadbare cloth. "How's the harvest coming?"

"Exceptionally. When has it not?"

Erik lingered, grimacing as he tried to think of a way to bring up the Bosmer traveler to his father. Mralki eyed him suspiciously and let his son flounder for a few moments before setting the mug down and pick king up another.

"Say your piece, son, the potatoes still need peeling."

"The elf," Erik sputtered after another moment, staring at his father intently, "He seemed…out of place. Was he a hunter?"

His father seemed to tense a little. "Not a hunter, no. Had quite a few pelts and a lot of choice venison he was willing to let go of, though. He also had a nice bow, a make I haven't seen anywhere since the war. A real charming character, too, polite for an elf. He paid for a room and said he'd be back a little later to actually sleep in it." Mralki shrugged, and Erik realized he'd beaten around the question. He had this achy feeling in the pit of his stomach, as he knew without pressing why his father wasn't telling him, but he persisted still.

"Why was he here, though? We haven't seen a Bosmer out these ways in ages." 

His father set the flagon down a bit harsher than really needed. "What does it matter, Erik? He ain't a hunter and he isn't here to set up a farm, so it's not much your concern."

Erik prickled, because that was what his father always said, as if Erik was still a pup nipping at his father’s ankles, too small to understand, too young to have real concern. His hands tightened almost painfully on the counter.

"He's an adventurer, isn't he?"

Mralki threw his hands into the air, the tension in his person causing the muscles in his check to jump with anger. "Do you ever listen to a word that comes out of my mouth, boy? It's none of your damned business, you hear?"

His father's face had taken on a somewhat purplish hue, and Erik knew he should quit while he was ahead, but he was tired of these games, tired of the excuses worn threadbare with too much use. They stared at each other for a long moment, Mralki heaving and Erik stewing, before finally-

"Because the only business I should ever take care of is peeling potatoes for the rest of my life, isn't that it? You're so worried I'll go off on my own you won't even say the word 'adventure'. I’m my own man, father, and your old pride’s keeping you from admitting it."

He pushed off the counter with a noise of disgust before his father could throw one of mugs he was cleaning into Erik's face and stalked to the chair closest to the fire with peeling knife in hand. With a low grumble and a solid kick to the curbstones, he proceeded to set half the water to boil near the hearth and used the dregs left over to wash the soil from the potatoes, pointedly ignoring the searching gaze of his father.

Two more hours passed and Erik had almost finished with the peeling and had most of the potatoes boiling into a stew when the door gave it's broken shriek of admittance and an almost lofty, sinewy figure graced the door frame. It took the Nord a moment to recognize the elf from earlier, but when he did, he found himself rising to his feet unexpectedly, bad mood forgotten and a half formed question for assistance on his chapped lips. The Bosmer flashed a smile that sent the Nord back into his seat and waved a hand at Mralki, pacing to the counter with long but tired looking strides.

"Good afternoon, ser," the Bosmer said, inclining his head in some sort of show of respect. His voice, though obviously weary, was still full of color and laughter. Erik raked his eyes confusedly down the stranger's back, his excessively civil manner uncommon in the usually loud and boisterous airs of the Frostfruit Inn. Mralki smiled, setting aside his mug and giving a quick glance to Erik as if to say 'What did I tell you?' Erik started chopping up some carrots almost absently as he listened intently over the popping of the fire, eyes squinted at the stranger’s back.

"Good afternoon to you," Mralki returned. The elf placed a knapsack from his back onto the counter, greetings now out of the way, and produced two large, freshly skinned bear pelts from it’s depths. The innkeeper raised a brow at the Bosmer as he ran his hands over the pelts, obviously very impressed with the quality and cleaning.

“I encountered a large bear and I suppose his intended mate down by the riverbank while trying to catch a bit of supper," the long-eared man explained matter-of-factly, a good-natured smile cracking his face, making the tiny lines around his dark ochre eyes crinkle a little.

"Mara's mercy," Erik's father breathed, holding the pelts up at arm's length; they were long enough that they still drooped over onto the counter. "How much are you asking for them?"

The Bosmer waved a hand. "Fifty Septims for both would be more than enough." Seeing Mralki's obvious start of surprise, he smiled again, but a bit more sheepishly. "I wasn't able to get much in the way of food while...wrestling said bears. A meal for the night would be a sufficient enough payment for the rest, if you’d be so inclined, ser."

Mralki was nodding his head before the elf had even finished. "Of course, of course. Pull up a seat by the fire, my son Erik's just finishing up the stew."

"Your kindness humbles me," the Bosmer said with sincerity as he accepted the small coin purse and folded up his knapsack again. He tossed it onto his free shoulder, and turned around to face the hearth. The Nord's blue eyes widened as they locked with the elf's, and he quickly looked back down to the leeks he was now currently chopping, feeling his ears and cheeks burn. He heard the faintest chuckle come from the counter, but he couldn't tell if it was the elf's or his father's over the soft creak of the rafters and the roar of the hearth. The young man became so concentrated on not concentrating on the stranger, images of glossy black hair and cheerful but shuttered orange eyes imprinted onto the back of his eyes like the glint of the sun, that he near cut his finger off when a voice from above startled him.

"Your stew's going to boil over."

"Huh?"

The lad looked up at the pot in front of him and cursed, grabbing a nearby cloth and moving the pot further off the stones to a cooler spot. He looked into the face of the mysterious elf, who smiled at him again, and Erik felt close to falling out of his seat. What a fool he must look! Yet the elf said nothing, and simply pulled up a stool next to him, not a word or a knowing look to make him any the wiser.

As the fire began to thaw the elf out, relaxing the chill from his flesh, the Nord began to realize that the other was not as old as he had originally thought. Without all the dirt on his face or his baggage, he looked a bit more lanky, almost awkwardly so contrasted to the graceful presence he’d posed on the fence, and Erik realized he was actually markedly tall compared to his brethren. His crooked nose and war paint almost made him look reprobate, but it only added to the charm for Erik, who could honestly feel himself becoming rather smitten with the whole effect; his face settled on a shade between softly flushed and drunkenly rutty as if he were unsure how to react to such a foreign idea as attraction, and he fiddled with the edge of the knife with his fingers.

"I'm Erik, obviously," the young man spouted without preamble, holding out a hand towards the wood elf, all dirt and peelings, but the other didn’t seem to care as he took it in a firm grasp anyway.

"Bain," the elf said, his long fingers gripping tightly. Erik’s stomach warmed curiously as the elf smiled once more, and when he let go, regrettably, and leant back once more in the chair, the Nord was forced to refocus on the task at hand. When the stew was finally done, Erik's father produced a slightly stale loaf of bread from a bread box under the counter and distributed it among the three of them in hunks, and Erik retrieved a jug of spiced wine from the cellar and watered it down a bit to make it last. They ate in companionable silence unless Bain brought up a topic of discussion; Erik lightly scraped the surface of Bain's expertise with a bow, which lead to a long winded and elaborate tale of his adventures and less elaborate misadventures, which Mralki tolerated in the sake of not causing some sort of scene. Erik reveled in the elf's company, and when Erik's father retired for the night, they stayed up late into the evening discussing everything from local fauna to whimsical rumors to their favorite books.

"I personally love the Mystery of Talara chronicles." Bain said with mirth.

"No!" Erik laughed back, slapping a knee.

"They're very well written! And who doesn't like reading about prostitutes and royalty and murder mysteries?"Bain snickered, taking a sip from his tankard.

Erik chuckled again, running a finger over the lip of his cup. "I really liked the Windhelm Letters."

Bain smiled; it was all teeth and amusement. "I read that. It was interesting."

"It's somewhat sad; a mother left behind to keep her kids safe but worried for her husband's security. She goes so far as to storm a castle and go against guards just so she can make sure her children get fed, and then you never find out if she survived or if her and her husband reunite. It's beautifully maddening."

Bain was simply smirking at him now, a pleasant gaze contentedly watching Erik as he talked. Erik smiled back, then away into his mug, color fighting it's way to his face. They sat like that without saying a word for a short age until Bain took one more swig of wine and stood up stretching, lean muscles popping and bulging slightly against the back of his undershirt, which he had stripped to a little ways after Mralki's bid goodnight.

"I believe it is a most Gods forsaken hour we find ourselves in, Erik," Bain said with a tired grin, turning to him, "it can't be more than two hours past midnight, and I know I need rest." The elf picked up his over shirt and his smaller bags as Erik stood and dowsed the fire a little, just enough to keep the coals but not too little to start a fire on its own.

"That was…a really wonderful talk, Erik. I haven't sat and really talked with anyone in ages. Thank you."

Erik smiled to himself as he bent to pick up their dishes. "You're welcome. I should thank you, I haven't sat and talked like that with anyone ever." He laughed and earned a chuckle from the elf. There was a very slight lull.

"Will I see you in the morning?" Erik heard himself ask the Bosmer quietly as he pushed the cork back in the wine. A small hush followed and then, "Of course."

Erik smiled. "Then goodnight to you, Bain.

He could almost hear the elf's coy smile as he replied softly, "Good night, Erik."

..

Erik did see Bain the next morning, and for a complete week after that, which was disputably one of the best weeks Erik could ever remember having. They spent many late nights talking or just sitting together by the fire, and the red headed Nord couldn't remember a time when he had enjoyed himself more. The Bosmer was periodically taking care of a large camp of Forsworn for the Jarl over the way, and each day he would set off with bow in hand and knapsack slung over his shoulder towards their camp; he always came back before dusk with new riches and even richer tales. Bain taught Erik many things about hunting and trapping and tracking, and the Bosmer's smooth tongue and polite manners somehow convinced Mralki to let him rent his room at a discount for that whole time he stayed. It probably wasn't so much Bain's charm itself as it was Mralki's happiness at seeing his son seem so free and content in the elf's presence.

The discount wasn't the only thing Bain convinced Mralki of. Over that week, Bain had picked up on Erik's tired struggle with the melancholy life of a farmer; he saw the fire that blazed in the Nord's eyes whenever the elf talked of fighting Draugr or rescuing captives from bandits, and he wished more than anything Erik could experience that for himself. When he brought it up with Mralki, he was very much against the idea, and with solid, good reasons, but Bain eased him into the idea, and with a final ditch effort of paying for Erik's armor out of his own pocket, Bain was able to convince the old innkeeper to take his son to Whiterun and get him outfitted in everything he needed. When Bain told Erik later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, the Nord simply sat there, staring at him in bewilderment.

"That…is what you wanted, is it not, serjo?" Bain asked, the proud grin he had been displaying wavering a little. It returned in full force as Erik rose to his feet (hauling the lighter man with him) and threw his muscled arms around the elf.

"More than anything, my friend. You…you have done me a service that I can't repay you for." Erik's voice was thick and low sounding, and he tried to swallow the lump in his windpipe, but it grew tenfold as the Bosmer slide a hand up and then down the side of his neck. In the pit of his stomach, something sparked; a peculiarly jumpy feeling deep within his bowls that both thrilled and confused him.

"I don't need payment, Erik," Bain replied in a hushed tone, "Being able to help you is all the payment I need. You will make a great adventurer someday, I know it," He smiled then, eyes half lidded, "hunter's intuition."

The elf was flush against Erik, and the Nord was short of breath, on the verge of panting as Bain brought his other hand up to cup either side of Erik's neck. It was too damned hot, the Nord thought, as he secured his arms even tighter around the Bosmer, lifting Bain a few inches closer to his lips. He wasn't sure what he was doing, couldn't depict the right or wrong moves in the sea of orange he was drowning in, but the way the other man's eyes were glazed over with want made Erik want to do things to Bain; make him whimper and whine and writhe against him in throws of passion. Bain was only inches away now, so close to his lips he could feel it when the elf whispered, "I think I like you far too much than I really should, Erik."

Before Erik could reply or even form coherent thoughts, the elf had pushed away from him gently, taking a few stumbling steps back.

"I'll…I'll be setting out in the morning."

"O-oh?" Erik replied breathlessly, his hands falling to grip the ends of his shirt. He was quite dazed, to say the very least; leading a man on and then announcing you would be leaving him in a matter of hours did things to the head.

"I cleared out the camp this morning." Bain replied, his hands connecting in front of him, playing with the small silver band he wore; it was a nervous twitch the elf preformed when he was trying to calm nerves, a little habit that Erik had picked up on, mostly because it was the only time he saw Bain fidget and the elf became rather endearing when wriggling around like so.

Erik balked again at the smoothness of the elf's tone. "Oh."

"I need to return to the Jarl before he sends more men…you know how it goes."

The words were hollow on both their ears, and Bain began turning the ring on his finger faster; he was trying to throw some sort of wall up again, and seemed to be failing miserably.

"Will you…come back? After you've met with Jarl Igmund?" Erik asked hurriedly, hope and a tad bit of outrage unabashed in his pale eyes and delicate voice. All movement stopped from the elf.

"I…I don't know."

A flash of emotion boiled up in Erik; anger, worry, longing. "Dammit, Bain, how do you not know?"

Bain flinched a little. "It's complicated, Erik, I lead a rather complex life-" He stopped a moment to stare at the Nord, before saying, "You look rather lovable when you're angry."

"Don't switch the topic," The younger man snapped without venom, and then, as quiet as the thought had been itself-

"Take me with you."

It was Bain's turn to hesitate; he started twiddling his fingers again as he ducked his head to look at the ground.

"Erik, I deal with many things you would have never even dreamed of, things I've never shared with you out of fear of being rejected," The elf finally said in a hushed tone, "The kind of life I lead isn't the kind you'd want or generally need, and I am not the kind of person you want to be associated with out there," Bain said as he thrust a finger towards the inn door, indicating the world outside of Rorikstead.

Erik chuckled. "Be that the unobvious case, I've always wanted a life of adventure, and adventure follows you wherever you go; why stay here and wait when I can go with someone I actually care about keeping alive and having wild escapades with now?"

The Bosmer stared at Erik long and hard after his statement, scrutinizing the Nord. Erik felt much like a choice steer at market, but he kept from fidgeting under Bain's gaze.

"…Do you truly mean that?" Bain finally asked, still staring at him intently.

"Mean what?" Erik replied, brows knitting together in confusion; the elf talked in riddles sometimes and the Nord rarely had the patience to try to figure his meanings out by himself.

"That you care if I live or die," Bain said bluntly, "That I sleep through the night to draw breathe in the morning, or notch an arrow in an opponent before they strike with their blade. Do you mean what you said?"

Erik gradually began to nod, his brow still knit. "Why are you even asking? That's just silly Bain, of course I'd care if you died."

The elf gave a sighing sort of laugh as he tumbled into Erik, arms twining around the Nord for support. "You care far more than most, Erik. Far more than most."

Erik just shook his head in exasperation and held the elf, a small smile settling on his features.

If he went to bed that night dreaming of pale scars and tawny brown eyes, he would have never admitted it.

 


End file.
